The Truth About Cantaloupes
by G.E Waldo
Summary: Summary: A mostly conversation fic'. My take on the Lockdown Truth or Dare exchange between 13 and Wilson, plus a little extra based upon the spoilers for next week. Warning - little SPOILERS!
1. Chapter 1

Truth or Cantaloupes

By G. Waldo (formerly GeeLady) f

Rating: Maybe Adult-ish

Summary: A mostly conversation fic'. My take on the Lockdown Truth or Dare exchange between 13 and Wilson, plus a little extra based upon the _**spoilers for next week.**_

_**Warning - little SPOILERS!!**_

Disclaimer: Not mine...blah, blah, blah - though a fantasy never hurt anyone.

Wilson sat back, ready for anything that Thirteen was willing to toss his way. She claimed to the queen of Truth or Dare. Well, he was queen too, er - _king_. "Fine." He said. "Truth."

Thirteen crossed her arms, and leaned forward, anticipating. "Okay. I've worked here for three years, and heard all the gossip about you two, so I just have to know - did you and House ever do it?"

A long pause occurred from Wilson's side of the table. Then, a sheen of sweat forming on his upper lip - "Ask me something else."

Thirteen chortled. A single ironic yip. "Hah! - _not_ on your life. This game was your idea, Wilson, so you have to answer, though the terror on your face pretty well tells me what I want to know."

Wilson blushed crimson, and took a deep breath. "It was a long time ago, I was young, an idiot..."

"... and House was tall, sexy, insistent..."

"_N-o-o_, he wasn't." That was enough to confirm Thirteen's suspicions that the idle hospital gossipers were not as idle as everyone thought. House and Wilson had done it. For real.

Her speculations were enough to push Wilson into sparing a few more details. "Okay, fine, _yes_, we,..I-I mean House and me,...we kinda'..", whispering, "_slept_ together." He thrust a finger in her face to halt further speculation. "Only _once._ There was beer, a _lot_ of beer, we were both lonely, it was Christmas, and I was an _idiot_."

"So all it took to get you into your best friend's pants were a few beers and a sad face? Wow." She nodded her head as though she, and everyone else had always known it. "You're a slut, Wilson."

"It wasn't a "few beers", it was a case and _a half_ of beer. Plus once we were smashed, House pulled out the pipe and we..." He looked over at her insatiably curious expression. "It was just one of those things, all right? It just _happened. _It wasn't a conscious decision. I wasn't hardly _conscious _at the time."

Thirteen perked up. "You're _embarrassed_. Why? Did little James bow out?"

"No!" He almost shouted. Quickly dialing back his volume - "I mean,...look, it was a regretful one-night stand with my _new_ best friend. We were young. I was barely a doctor then - in residency. And House was - "

"- hard to resist?"

Throwing her a chilly glare. "Will you let _me_ tell my shameful story, please?"

Thirteen raised her palms in a surrender.

"I'd just been served with my final divorce papers. I was a mess. House bailed me out of jail, and we - "

"- hold it, hold it. Why were you in _jail_?" She looked at him like he was crazy. "What in God's name were you two _doing_?"

"Nothing. I broke an antique mirror in the hotel. It was a medical conference. We were at a conference. I was drunk, some idiot was playing a song over and over and wouldn't stop; a song I hated so, like a drunken moron, I threw my beer glass at the bar mirror and smashed it."

"So you went to jail because you refused to pay for it."

"No. I wrote a check to cover it, but the hotel management decided to make an example of me and pressed charges anyway."

"So they threw your ass in jail. Was House in the next cell? Are we talking jail gender-bend-over sex here, or- "

"No. Shut-up and let me finish."

"H-okay. Just trying to ferry things along." Thirteen smiled though. A tease. To Wilson's great irritation, she was enjoying his misery immensely.

"House bailed me out."

Thirteen didn't believe it for a second. "_What?_ The cheapest man I've ever known bails you - a stranger - out of jail for no reason? You have to be lying. What really happened?"

"That's what really happened."

"Okay, say I believe you. Why? And where does the sex come in?"

Wilson looked a bit crestfallen. He had hoped she'd forgotten about that part of the tale. "House said he was bored, and I was "interesting". That's why he bailed me out."

"And you were grateful, so you went back to his hotel room with him, and introduced him to James Junior?"

"Again - _no_." Wilson glanced through the partition window and out to the larger cafeteria window that teased him with outside and freedom from her tyranny. "We got talking. We drank. I was depressed. I was drunk. He was drunk. He pulled out the pipe...and we...sort of got horn-i-fied together."

"Horn-i-fied?" Thirteen, with a huge grin and all business - "And how, you know, _was_ he?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Wilson swallowed, found something fascinating about the table napkins and answered. "Honestly? It was nice. House doesn't suck in bed" He quickly glance at her. "In a manner of speaking." Narrowing his eyes at the bizarre memory, "And he does this...strange, incredibly erotic thing with cantaloupes..."

Wilson snapped his mouth closed as though he was revealing too much, or perhaps starting to enjoy the memory. Thirteen smiled again. "You really like House, don't you?" She said, then without waiting for him to answer. "Me, too. I mean I like working for him." Her eyes narrowed. "But you _really_ like him. It's deep and personal with you. With House it's a kind of, I dunno', romance from afar."

"No it is _not_." Wilson shifted in his seat. The cafeteria chairs were not meant to nestle a backside for many hours. "Look- maybe I was grateful for him bailing me out. He made me promise to pay him back, by the way. House doesn't give freebies."

"But you still felt obligated to him? Is that why the mattress dance?"

"No," He said sternly but with lowered volume. No sense in adding to the gossip. "That isn't why I had sex with him. I just told you why."

"So it _was_ mutual, then? Give it up, Wilson. Drunk or not, how many strangers have you ever slept with?"

"One or two. Who hasn't?"

"Wilson," Thirteen leaned in to more explain something to her poignantly dense colleague. "Wilson, you willingly had sex with House, and then _remained_ his friend. You had sex with a stranger, and he still became your _best friend_."

"Yeah? So?"

"So, it was more than a drunken mistake. And even if it _was_ a mistake, it had to have meant something to you later. If it didn't mean anything, 'cause as you say, everybody does it and runs at least once, why are you embarrassed to talk about it?"

"_Because_ he became my best friend. Sex with your best friend, twenty years asgo or yesterday, is not a coffee-break topic."

"Wilson, you can't be this dumb. Why did he become your best friend to begin with?" Thirteen asked. "Why didn't you just leave and never look back, if it didn't _mean _anything? If _he_ didn't mean anything?"

From his confused expresion, it was crystal clear to her that the man had never thought about it. "I don't know." Then he took a frantic stab in the dark to explain his inexplicable behavior. "Maybe I felt sorry for him. He seemed as lonely as I was."

"You know what I think? I think you started loving House right away. I think you grew as attached to him as he obviously did to you. And for the first time in your life, that love felt real."

"I'm not in love with House. I'm seeing someone."

"But you do _love_ him." She pressed the point, her nose almost touching his. "After all he's put you through, you're _still here_."

To that Wilson quietly agreed. "Of course I love him. He's my -"

" - best friend." She finished for him. "You're the queen of denial, Wilson."

Wilson shook his head, trying to dispel any stray or unwanted thoughts the conversation may have planted in his brain. "You _can't_ tell anyone. Least of all House."

"Why not House? He was there."

"Because he and I agreed never to discuss it. For nineteen years, we've made as though it never happened."

Thirteen shrugged, and nodded her agreement not to blab. Of course she wouldn't talk about it, but for some reason she was suddenly miffed at Wilson. As though his having, or showing, affection for House, was something dirty or taboo.

Both men were an interesting study. She'd seen Wilson with his women, now and then, in public. He always acted like a perfect gentleman, every single minute. Very respectful and chaste. Calculated in his socially correct displays of affection. Timely, even. Robotic.

And she'd had occasion to observe House's shameless public advances toward Lisa Cuddy, and his boisterous, before-the-whole-world homoerotic teasing of his best friend. Coming down to a choice, she found House the more refreshing man. He was lustful, childish and crude, but wide open when he loved. He offered discrete, but sweet physical affections, and was thoroughly unashamed of his romantic interests.

The two men could not have been more different.

It was no wonder House obsessed over Wilson's affairs and marriages. He could see through the very correct gestures, and wall-papered emotions as though they were made of glass. Maybe their one-night homo-sexual tryst had not, for the last nineteen years, been mentioned, Thirteen thought, but it had left its mark, at least on her boss. Poor House.

A bell sounded that signaled the lock down was over. An announcement followed, confirming it. Thirteen stood up. "I got news for you, Wilson, you 'aint fooling anyone."

-

-

Wilson wined and dined his first ex-wife, then brought her back to his shared apartment, into his perfectly made bed, and banged her like a good heterosexual.

The next morning he heard voices in the kitchen. She was meeting House for the first time. He couldn't really hear what they were saying to each other, but there was no shouting, and House sounded,...almost nice. A good start.

When she returned to the bedroom and crawled back into bed, she whispered. "I didn't think the scar would look so bad."

"Hm?"

"Your room-mate's scar? The debridement you told me about? I can see why he has pain."

Wilson sat up, his hair mussed from the pillow and the romp from the previous evening. "Wait. You saw House's scar? How,..."

"You didn't tell me your room-mate walks around naked."

_That's because he doesn't._ "Um, well, House never...he was _naked_?"

"Uh-huh."

She sounded altogether too pleased for his taste. "Don't worry." She was quick to reassure. "It wasn't _that_ awkward."

Now he really sat up. Blue-bird awake and chirping. "Why not??"

She sat up again. "James, are you jealous that I saw your friend naked? I wasn't trying to peek, you know. He was in the kitchen, I walked in....we talked, I handed him an apron..."

"You had to give him an apron? He didn't...he didn't try to cover himself up?"

She shrugged. "No. Maybe he's comfortable with his sexuality."

"Well, I'm not comfortable with his comfort." He threw off the covers. "Wait right here."

"James, just forget it. He wasn't trying to get a rise out of me - he didn't even know I was staying here."

"Never mind." He threw on a robe, tying the belt furiously. "He and I have to discuss some new rules, like not walking around naked in front of my girlfriend."

"Look, if it's any consolation, he has a nice body, but it's not like I'm going after it."

Wilson spun to stare at his ex-wife-new-chick. "You think he has a nice body?" His voice shot up a full octave. "Just how much of it did you take in? Did you take notes? Pictures? _- pull out the yard-stick??"_

She frowned now, getting mad, and ready to jump right back at him. "You're still a jealous idiot, James. God, I thought you would have matured after all these years. I saw him, but we exchanged words, not fluids."

"You shouldn't _have_ to have seen him."

""Have-to-have"? For Christ's sake - are you feeling all right?"

"Yes. I'm feeling fine. Violated, but fine."

"Why are _you_ feeling violated? You weren't _in_ the kitchen."

Wilson rubbed the top of his head, then his neck, his hand almost a blur, as though he was trying to sand down his skin. He had no idea, and it bugged him that he had no idea why he was feeling..._betrayed_.

Thirteen had said it. _"You're still here." _

He was. He was still here. Still doing the same things over and over. Still hooking up with people no good for him. Still making bad relationship choices. Still trying to prove that he was the man he needed everyone to think he was. He was still here in this spot, un-moved, after nineteen years. "I don't know what..." He stopped. Looked at his most recent conquest. "Would you mind...going? I mean, I'll call you later, but I need to talk to House alone. I have to get this out and over-with."

She spread her hands. "Get what over with? Nothing happened, you jerk!"

"I know, I know. It's...complicated. Him and me - I mean not _him_ and _me_ complicated.." Who was he kidding? "..I just mean _this_ him and me is complicated."

It was obvious she was going to get no further coherent clarification from her still odd ex-husband. It was time to leave for work anyway, and began getting dressed. She felt sorry for the room-mate, who had done nothing wrong but walk around his own home nude, not that she was complaining about that part. He did have a strapping, well developed body. Rather a pleasant way to wake up, she decided, however socially awkward it may have been for her. He hadn't seemed to mind.

She sighed. Poor guy. He was about to be yelled at for no reason at all. Wilson could be a real jerk when he was in a self-righteous mood.

-

-

"Why were you walking around naked?'

House, now showered, dressed and sipping his first coffee of the day, looked up at his irate friend. Wilson had adopted his "hissy-fit" stance. Hands on hips, feet apart, face stern. The whole Wilson package stunk of disapproval.

"Why didn't _you_ tell me you were bringing a filly home for the hay?"

"She's not a filly, she's my ex-wife."

"Is this part of the alimony?"

"No. We had dinner. We shared an evening, and you must have known she was here, because you never walk around naked."

"Never's a long time."

"I think you did this on purpose."

House looked out the window. "Yeesh. Yes, Wilson I'm trying to break up your two-day relationship with your ex-wife by flashing my wares."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Trying to break us up?"

"I wasn't aware that two days made a together, but no, my leg started hurting in the middle of the night. I couldn't use your bath, because you threatened me with death the last time I did while you were sleeping, so I was using hot compresses on it in the bathroom. Hence no clothes. No clothes is another way of saying undressed, which is another way of saying naked. I got thirsty, and came out to the kitchen. She surprised me and fireman House, not the other way around."

Wilson's lips dripped doubt. "I'm pretty certain your thigh is not part of your privates or your hip-bone. You've never needed to be naked before to apply heat, why now?"

"Go to hell." House set his cup down, not too gently either, and limped heavily toward his bedroom. "By the way, she was lucky I was just thirsty and not in need of lubrication."

Wilson followed. Maybe he had pushed it far enough. Forgetting for a moment why he was mad - "Tell me why, House." He stopped in House's open bedroom door. "Has the pain gotten that much worse? Why didn't you say anything?'

"For the same reason you didn't believe me the last twenty times I tried to tell you that my leg is getting worse. You think I'm lying." House was real mad now. "You know what? I am lying. Your ex' and me did it hot and wild on the kitchen counter. Suck it up."

Wilson dropped his stance, and his muddled concerns about who saw what where. "Why is it getting worse? Have you had a CT or an MRI?"

"Not yet."

Wilson came into the room, sitting on the other end of the bed out of reach of House's fists. "_Why_ not?"

"Pain's radiating up into my abdomen now. It could be arterial wall damage. If so, a graft will repair the leg for another few years, which is slightly better than having it lopped off. If it's a tumor, or more muscle or nerve death, it means it _probably_ needs to be lopped off. Which is forever, which is slightly worse than a graft."

"So you're afraid to know."

"There's only one thing that scares me more than being a cripple in pain for the rest of my life, and that's being a one-legged cripple with no pain. Ibuprofen, even Vicodin, can't fix amputation."

"I'm sorry I yelled."

House rubbed his thigh. "So? Did I frighten off your ex' with my degrading nakedness?"

"No." Wilson smiled. "I frightened her off with how annoyed I was about it." Not annoyed. That word didn't really fit.

"I wasn't trying to shock her, though Little House has made women faint now and then."

"Right. Look, next time, I'll warn you if I'm thinking about bringing someone home."

House nodded. "Okay, and I'll warn you if I feel like walking around naked. Otherwise, it's by request only."

"Gotcha'." Wilson walked to the door again.

But House said to his back. "I don't know why it freaked you out so much, anyway. It's not like we've never seen each other na-"

"-House." Wilson held up a hand, palm out. "You promised never to mention that."

"No, you _made_ me promise never to mention it. It was shut up or lose your friendship, so I shut up." House continued to rub at his thigh, his face a study in tension. "I don't know why you hate the thought of it so much now, you didn't _then_."

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose. "House, please..."

House muttered. "The clock struck, and I turned into a pumpkin."

"You're not a pumpkin!"

"But you _are_ ashamed of me."

Shocked - "I'm not ashamed of you. Where did that come from?"

"You don't want to ever talk about it? Fine. Except you also want to pretend it never happened at all, like touching me suddenly became...disgusting. Like fucking me was the biggest mistake you ever made." House dropped his head down, saying the rest to his sore thigh. "Like I was a leper or something."

"That's not it - "

"- If not shame, then what?"

"I,.." Wilson stopped, at a loss how to explain the why's and how he felt then, and how he felt now. House just kept his eyes on his bothersome leg. This was a subject heavily on his mind, and evidently had been for a long time. Wilson gestured back and forth between them, "I like things between us...the way they are."

"Me, too."

"Then why - ?"

"Because it hurts. It's hurt for nineteen years. If being with me was so terrible, why did you stick around at all? Obligation to a lonely, drunken jerk? Was I that pathetic? Because if that's what you thought, that hurts just as much."

"You weren't pathetic, and it wasn't terrible." It hadn't been. It had been a lustful, lengthy, lovely evening. Sexually delicious. Spiritually comforting. House had been bold and un-fettered in his intentions, but also tender and thorough - and a repeat performance man. That one evening had helped him heal from his self-loathing of being a man with an eight-month failed marriage at twenty-five years of age. The marriage break-up - his fault. The awful divorce - his doing.

House, his older, exciting, interesting, challenging new friend, had slaked his hunger for affection and love for one incredible night. It was in every way, a good memory. "I was ashamed of _myself_." Wilson waved away any false ideas that might spark before his friend could voice them. "Not of us having sex, or you, but who I was then." Wilson leaned on the door jamb and stared straight at his troubled friend. "House - you're important to me. You're one of the best parts of my life, and I want you _in_ my life." Wilson sighed from the weight of his past failures and long-bourn failings. "But back then,..." he shook his head. "I would have _hurt_ you, don't you know that? It would have been nice for a while - it might have been even great - and then I would have done my...pathetic, ego-centered, stupid _thing_. I would have backed off; probably cheated - too scared of the look in your eyes."

Wilson sat down again on the bed, closer this time. "If we had continued being together in _that _way, I think I really _would_ have left." The past was almost as hard as the present when it came to living through it. "I'm glad we didn't get together romantically, because I would have broken your heart. I would have missed out on all this." He gestured around them as though they themselves filled what constituted their world together. "What we have _now_." Regretfully - "It took me another sixteen, seventeen years to change that pattern of behavior."

House's hand had never stopped its motion. "Oh."

Wilson almost laughed. What do you say, after all? "Trust me, House, you're sexy as hell." He stood up. "Come on, I'll get dressed and we'll go to the hospital. I'll do the scared thing for both of us this time, too, but let's get that leg CT-ed. Please?"

House nodded, taking the hand offered him. "Do you really think I'm sexy?"

"Sure. You had me after four drinks."

"Three."

"_Four_."

"It was three. I counted."

"How do you remember stuff like that?"

"And one little toke. You were a cheap date."

"Thanks, but there is where you _are_ wrong. I smoked a whole joint by myself."

House laughed. "Right."

"I did. You passed out, and I hit the bong."

"You're such a liar. A joint and a bong are not the same thing."

"Fine. You passed out, and I did some shots."

"You're a liar _and_ a girl. We both know you can't hold hard stuff."

"Fine. I'm lying."

"So why'd you sleep with me?"

"'Cause you look hot in a tux'."

"And 'cause you loved me."

"Well, there _was_ that."

XXXXXXXXXX

See Chapter 2


	2. Chapter 2

The Whole Damn Sexy Truth About Cantaloupes 

By G. Waldo (formerly GeeLady)f

Rating: NC-17-ish!!

Summary: A mostly conversation fic'. My take on the Lockdown Truth or Dare exchange between 13 and Wilson, plus a little extra based upon the _**spoilers for next week.**_

_**Warning - little SPOILERS!!**_

Disclaimer: Not mine...blah, blah, blah - though a fantasy never hurt anyone.

House did the food shopping that weekend.

Wilson didn't mind. House's tastes as to food had improved dramatically, though with his leg, he could only handle so much. Wilson usually did a mid-week shop to supplement what House couldn't handle on Saturday.

Wilson could hear House's shuffling limp come to a stop at their loft door, and his key in the lock. The squeak of the door opening, and the crinkle of plastic grocery bags. He could set his watch by how House came home. The first thing he did was dump whatever he was carrying on the floor. This time, it was groceries.

Wilson had lived long enough with House, now, that he understood House's slovenliness wasn't a streak of stubborn lazy, so much as it was stubborn pain. His leg could only do so much and then it would give up, which surrender usually came without any warning. Suddenly - ta-dah! - House would need to sit down, or drop the load he was hauling, or stop mid-walk and hover in one spot, rubbing the twitching, tightening muscles until _they_ were ready to continue the march. No amount of coaxing more from it produced any further useful movement or weight-bearing. When House's leg shouted at him to stop, he had no choice but to do as he was told.

Wilson heard the tell-tale thump of several grocery bags being dumped on the floor. "Back already?"

"Already? I've been gone for two hours."

Right. House took a while to get groceries, too, because of the leg. Several weeks ago, they'd done a CT on it. Lack of exercise had lead to some muscle deterioration, which had lead to strain on the ligaments and femur, which had lead to the increased pain. House had been ordered by Cuddy to do daily PT to build them back up.

So House had requested a treadmill for his office, and had purchased one for home as well, placing it in his bedroom where he did his second of twice daily walks while sweating and grimacing in great pain. On the weekends House only did one session each day, but Monday to Friday, it was twice and a sight that made Wilson cringe. He had no personal idea of the pain levels his room mate was going through, though he could guess since the last few weeks had been the first time in years he had seen House's eyes water from the agony. He also knew the ibuprofen was doing next to nothing to ease it.

Wilson stood to fetch the groceries while House made use of the bathroom.

Cans of soup and pre-packaged rice dishes. Wilson preferred fresh everything but he wasn't always home to cook dinner, and House, though he had learned to cook very well, could no longer tolerate the amount of standing required to produce a proper, full course meal.

Milk and cereal. Bread, peanut butter, butter, eggs, bacon, drink crystals, cans of tuna and salmon, blueberry jam, a package of chicken breasts, three bagged salads, and the last bag, Wilson discovered as he hauled it into the kitchen, was very bulky and heavy.

Wilson opened it up to discover fruit. Four enormous, ripe cantaloupes. He called down the hall to the bathroom when he heard the toilet flush and the sink water running. "House. You bought cantaloupes."

"Yeah." He said, walking into the kitchen and fetching himself a coffee from the warmed-over morning pot.

_"Why _did you buy cantaloupes?"

House shrugged. "On sale."

Wilson stared at his friend, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Was this because of our talk a few weeks ago...you, me, the unmentionable event from our younger years...?"

House appeared to have no idea what his friend was talking about. Without warning, he suddenly reached out and placed a hand on his forehead, making Wilson jump. "Hm. No fever." House muttered. He took his coffee up and turned away.

Wilson pursed his lips. "Don't give me that. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

House half turned back, but kept heading in the direction of the living room. "Are we sleeping together?"

Wilson halted. "What? No."

"Then what are you Nancy-ing about?" House sat down on Wilson's new white furniture, resting his right foot on the name-brand coffee table.

Wilson rubbed his hands together, anticipating a House-designed battle of wits. "The cantaloupes? You haven't forgotten. I know you bought those to remind me of that night and what we did with them, in the hopes that the memories would stimulate me into wanting to do the same again - "

" - will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Roll the cantaloupes into the bedroom and get fruity with me?"

"No."

House shrugged. "Then why are we having this conversation?"

Wilson was defeated and he knew it. Even if House was trying to screw with him so he could later screw _with_ him, and he was fairly certain he was, all he had to do is ignore it, and the fruit.

Let them rot in the fridge and that would be the end of it. Wilson retreated back to the kitchen to thrust the offensive things deep into the back of the Maytag, muttering about wasted money.

The damn things took up the entire bottom shelf. His Tupperware of yesterday's beef barley soup had to be shoved in sideways on the shelf above. Wilson shifted the eggs, and several condiment jars, tucking the soup away as best he could. The fridge would not close. After two more adjustments of jars and what-not's, it did.

Wilson returned to the living room himself and planted his ass in front of the television, where House was watching Disasters of the Century. A river was over-flowing its banks and flooding an American town. Drowned cows floated by. Wilson crossed his arms, thinking about fuzzy udders. "We're not going to have sex, House."

House kept his eyes on the TV. "Glad we cleared that up."

"So what are you going to do with the cantaloupes?"

House turned his head to look at his stiff, uncomfortable room mate. "I thought, somewhere down the line, I'd _eat_ them."

"Breakfast? Brunch?"

"With ice cream - can I watch the _show_?" He tossed a lazy hand toward the TV.

"Fine" Wilson hunkered himself down into the couch in a physically and psychologically fierce refusal to be manipulated, or baited. Better yet, beat House at his own game. "I'll buy ice-cream tomorrow." House had issued an underhanded challenge, so he'd answer it by _helping_ House eat the damn cantaloupes.

"Fine."

"What flavor?"

"Licorice for me."

"And what flavor for me?" Wilson asked, immediately realizing what a moronic question it was. Already his thinking was getting off-balance with the damn cantaloupes rolling around in his fridge and in his head.

"Surprise yourself."

Was House amused? Wilson stared at his friend but House already had his eyes back on the television. "_Fine_." Wilson said, nodding his head with finality.

House said. "Glad we cleared that up."

-

-

House didn't pull the ice-cream out on Sunday either, and Wilson could feel the tightness building between his own shoulder-blades, and the tension headache that threatened. But, as he pulled on a casual weekend shirt in his bedroom, he had a plan. "House."

"Yeah?" Mellow groans from the organ sounded as House piddled around on his new toy.

"I invited Sam for dinner." Wilson raised his voice to be heard over the soft musical tones of the expensive gift.

"Sam?"

House knew who she was. This was simply another play. "My ex'."

"What'r we having?"

"Stuffed primavera and salad."

"'K."

Wilson smiled. "And cantaloupes with ice-cream for dessert."

"Sounds good."

Was that uncertainty in House's tone? Wilson peeked down the hall but House still had his head down, watching his own fingers pick out a tune of no particular familiarity. "Did you hear me?? Wilson asked again.

"Yup."

Wilson squinted. He'd dice the cantaloupe and mix it with black blackberries, sprinkled in fine sugar. Then add a scoop of ice-cream. The cantaloupes would be transformed into an unrecognizable delight. _Try sticking __**that**__ to your_ - Wilson stopped and shook his head, dismissing the memory.

Dinner was excellent, the pasta firm, the chicken and terra cotta cheese delicious. House cleaned his plate.

Sam smiled pleasantly at James, thanking him the meal. All evening though, she had been looking across the table at House, as though studying him, while House kept his head down, chewing his food contentedly. The whole meal was stuck in Wilson's craw, and he began gathering the plates with more force than was necessary, clanking and clinking the cutlery.

Sam watched her ex' scrape whatever remained into the garbage and place the dirty dinner-ware into the sink, running water over them before the food had a chance to dry and set-up - an especially annoying habit she had not managed to break during their short time together, and one which drove James batty. She wondered if Greg House sported the same ingrained failing? "James tells me you play the piano." She attempted conversation while House picked his teeth with a toothpick.

He nodded.

"And the guitar?"

He held up four fingers.

"Four instruments?" She asked, astonished. James hadn't said what a musically talented room mate he had.

"Guitars." House corrected her. "Four guitars."

"And the organ, too?" Even more impressive. "That's amazing." She had noticed the absence of the piano. "Where _is_ the piano?"

"Wilson says it would take up too much room."

Sam was a little surprised to hear that, though not wholly. James had said the same of her salt-water fish tank in their apartment. There had, however, been plenty of room for his treadmill and weight-sets. James was a generous man, but he had his selfish side, too.

There were no weight sets, though, here so sometime during their divorce and their chance meeting a few weeks back, James had given up on trying to develop his legs, and what he considered his too-thin upper arms.

James' room-mate had nicely developed arms. Legs, too. He walked with a cane, but he worked out. "Don't you miss it?"

House nodded. "But Wilson bought me an organ."

The briefest expression flashed across his face and was gone. Had she not been looking right at him, she would have missed it altogether. House's words spoke of facts, but his face had said much more. Deep gratitude and, she thought she was not mistaken - endearment. Love, even. Greg House loved the gift. He loved Wilson for giving him the gift.

James had told her he figured House might try to break them up, and to prepare herself. She'd reminded him that they weren't actually back together yet, but James had insisted on vigilance anyway. "He's tried it before. Plenty of times." He'd explained.

Now, looking across the table at James' friend of nearly twenty years, she had to wonder why. James had described House as brilliant but stubborn to a fault. He had failed to mention the music and the casual way his friend paraded around their apartment in the nude. James would have to have known that, wouldn't he? Yet he had become so upset when she'd run into the birthday-suited man in the kitchen the morning after her first night over.

Their friendship seemed unusually _familiar_. Like two brothers, but closer. Society dictates demand that two brothers almost _have_ to love one another even if they can't stand one-another. But two men, not relations, who fought like James insisted he and Greg did, yet staying friends. Close friends. Friends that lived together, and shared, as far as she could see, everything.

James had told her the reasons he and House were living together. "Getting back at a friend" had been a bizarre explanation, though James had promised to elaborate further when it was "the right time".

Now was as good as time as any. "So why did you two decide to buy a condo?"

"Wilson bought the condo, I just live here." House sipped a glass of white wine that James had poured prior to dinner but that he was just drinking now. "Wilson didn't fill you in?"

"Not really."

Greg nodded and said. "I went insane. Checked myself into Mayfield Psychiatric hospital for four months. My shrink says I can't live alone. One of the conditions of my discharge."

Bold, naked, unashamed facts and she wasn't positive whether they were meant to shock or meant to be spoken and gotten rid of - out of the way, so normal conversation could resume.

They were also sad facts. "I'm sorry." She said.

"Don't be. I'm fine." He finished his wine in a single swallow. "Now."

James was busy with running water and putting on coffee, so he had not heard their little exchange. "Is that the only reason you and he live together?"

"We also fuck occasionally."

A ready answer. Flip. Not truthful. "How occasional?" She could be flip.

A teeny, tight smile formed on Greg's lips for a teeny second. It revealed nothing. Was he joking or wasn't he? Real or Memorex? But then he stole a glance to his right fifteen feet away where Wilson stood with his back to them, his hearing drowned in kitchen noise. An unconscious check of the most important person in Greg House's universe. By the time he looked back at her, she understood as though it had been painted on the wall behind her. "Oh my _god..." _She said softly.

Greg tensed up, ready to spring. He knew he had momentarily let his neutral facade slip. Just for a second she had wedged a tiny light into his guarded exterior. Enough that he had exposed himself.

So does a single spark make a keg of gun-powder light up. She saw his whole intent and will towards his room-mate and friend, and it was a barrel of need and want. "You don't just love him..." She said.

But then the water was turned off and their clandestine conversation was prematurely brought to a halt.

As Wilson joined them at the table, she saw another flash on Greg's face, this time it was for her - _Please don't tell him! _The plea in his eyes tugged at her heart. Greg wanted James, but not if it meant hurting him.

Wilson poured more wine, chatting aimlessly about the line-up at the grocery store the day before, and asked her about her work. Then he excused himself to the washroom. "Then we'll have dessert." He said, throwing Greg an odd look before leaving the table that she couldn't place.

Greg played with his table napkin, fingering the bleached, starched linen with two fingers of his right hand.

"Why haven't you ever told him?"

"Because Wilson has to learn it himself, or he'll doubt himself every minute until he finds an easy lay or packs a bag."

Sam sucked in a tiny breath. Greg really did know James well. "Yes," She said, "that's true." In her estimation it was one of the reasons she and James had fallen apart so quickly. James jumped in and out of love like a rabbit did his hole. He hadn't been in love with her, he'd just been lonely. There were two very different things. When you were lonely, you wanted people around you. Almost anyone. When you loved someone, you were still often lonely, but you knew it was temporary. And if sometimes you wanted to kick their ass down the street, you still missed them when you did, and you didn't stop loving them because they were an ass.

James had brought her home and was acting like the James she remembered, plus some new things. He was James 0.2, but he was still James. Now she wondered if those new things had more to do with Greg House than with seeing her again, or himself emotionally maturing. "And he doesn't feel the same." She said.

House shrugged. "I don't know yet." He said, looking down the hall passed the kitchen. "Because _Wilson_ doesn't know yet."

Yes, Greg knew his friend much better than even she had surmised. For Greg it was more than simply twenty years of building a friendship, it was twenty years of wistful memories. Two decades of wishing, in between perhaps taking what he could get from others. She wondered if this man had ever loved anyone as deeply as he did James. But Greg had kept that love private and hidden, in order to keep the friendship freely and openly. It was painful to think about. "_Tell_ him."

House looked at her, for the first time with a wary countenance. "No." He answered, no room for argument. He was scared.

"James and I are...friends now. We spent one night together, maybe they're be more, but I don't want to get married again, least of all to my ex-husband. I love James - always have. But I don't _love_ him."

"I'm pretty sure he doesn't know that."

"Then I'll make it clear."

House, still suspicious - "Why are you trying to help me? What do you care?"

"I want to see him happy."

"Maybe he wouldn't be happy with me, maybe he'd be miserable. You don't know."

"He's not miserable. He wasn't the day I ran into him - James seemed..._content_, like he'd found his niche in the world. Different than what I was used to seeing."

"If you were married to him more than a week, you know Wilson can't be told anything. If I don't say anything, he might come to the conclusion I want him to come to - or not. If I tell him before he's figured it out and made his decision, even if he feels something, he'll freak and run."

"Or not." She added. Greg was as scared of James as James was of himself. What a tragic, weirdly romantic drama they were. "Tell him."

-

-

Dessert passed with Sam eating most of hers, Wilson happily scraping every last dark berry and cube of cantaloupe from the bottom of the fancy bowl, and House picking at his until its resemblance was closer to an autopsy than a fruity dessert dish. They discussed politics, current medical breakthroughs, upon many of which Greg heap scoffing remarks. Religion passed in the blink of an eye when Greg brought up the absurdity of a God whose omnipresent love included allowing bugs to lay eggs in each others living bodies to be grotesquely invaded and consumed bite by bite, the ever-gentle and loving concept behind chemical insanity or, even worse, Tammy Faye Baker.

Sam found Greg's observations to be biting and uncompromising, but in almost every case, shrewd. He did not come by his beliefs lightly, and he had a sharp wit and a positively brilliant mind.

Wilson gathered up the dessert dishes. "You didn't like it?" He asked his room mate as Sam sipped some richly roasted after dinner coffee. Wilson looked happy.

House shrugged. "Too full." He excused himself from the table and limped down the hall, saying over his shoulder tiredly. "Good night."

"Good night, Greg." She said. "It was nice meeting you." Hell-fire interesting in fact. Wilson hadn't told her the half of the emotional or intellectual levels of the man, nor the emotional maze that was their relationship.

Sam waited until she heard Greg's bedroom door close, then turned to James with tight lips. "What's wrong with you?"

James looked over his shoulder at her. "What do you mean?"

"You were an ass to Greg all evening. You were snippy and rude, and enjoying it."

Wilson shook off her concerns. "Believe me, he's done worse. Besides, he can handle it. He's made of stone."

"He's a stoic person, so that gives you the right to stomp all over his feelings?"

Wilson waved away her worries. "You don't understand." He turned off the coffee pot. "Look, House has been screwing with me lately. I needed to get back at him, and now I have. It's done. There's nothing that needs to be fixed."

Sam stood, gathered her coat and searched for her shoes among the pile of James' work loafers and his friends half dozen pairs of runners. "You haven't changed at all." She slipped into her pumps. "Incredible. Twenty years - exactly the same. That has to be some kind of record."

Wilson followed her to the door. "Where are you going? You're leaving? Because I played a joke on House?"

"Joke? How is ignoring his opinions, serving him a dessert you knew he obviously didn't like - "

" - wait a second. How did I ignore his opinions? And he loves cantaloupe?"

"Oh? Then why didn't he touch it?"

"Um,...that's difficult to explain. It's a long story, but -"

"- You were rude and dismissive."

James actually laughed at her. "You don't know House, Sam. Come on, House and me - we...have this way of communicating, it's strange but it works for us. He was screwing with me, so I screwed with him, and he knows I'm doing it, and he knows I know _he's_ doing it, so even if he's pretending to be hurt - trust me, he isn't. House doesn't get hurt. He's probably planning his next move right now."

Sam looked back like he was insane. She stormed, as only a angry woman can, to the bedroom door she knew was Greg's. Stopping, she calmed herself and turned the handle very quietly, opening the door enough to peek in, and not wake its occupier. The room was dark but the triangle of light from the hallway fell across the bed and they could see House laying on his side, turned away from them, his breaths slow and even. He was asleep.

She closed the door again, and whispered to James, though her tone was hard. "Right. He's scheming in his dreams. You're such an ass." Sam returned to her intent to leave.

Wilson followed, his arms flailing, his voice pitching higher and higher. "House pulls this stuff all the time. He's asleep, but that could just be part of his insane plan."

"Part of his plan to screw with you is to get a good night sleep?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't you see how ridiculous - how childish - you're being?"

Wilson shook his head at her. "If you knew House even a tenth as well as I do, you'd know accusing _me_ of being the childish one such a laugh, I can't talk about it."

It was when Sam was ready to leave that she stopped and stared at her ex husband. James was so kind and so generous, yet so selfish an obtuse as well, she had no inkling of how such contrary traits could exist within the same human being. "James. You like me, and I like you. We're familiar. But you love him. Admit. You'll be happier."

He shook his head at her. "Where is this coming from? Why the hell is everyone lately been telling me what I feel and about who? What difference does it make _how_ I feel about House? I love House. So what? I want a real relationship again, and I love yo-"

She held up a finger to his face. "-Don't you dare insult me by saying it." She gathered her coat around her. "You're terrified of how you feel, James, and so blinded by pride you don't see that you've already got what you want. You were scared with me, and you're scared with him. For Christ's sake put aside your public image for a change, and take a risk. Ignore what people think. Do what you _want_."

James rubbed his face with both hands. "I don't understand this at all. We were having such a nice evening..."

She rolled her eyes for the last time at her dumbstruck ex'. "_You _figure it out." The door closed behind her.

-

-

House's first question the next morning, "Where's - ?"

Was answered with Wilson's clipped anger. "She's _gone_."

House didn't appear surprised or puzzled. If anything, he looked nervous. He had got up and gotten dressed early for a change, right after Wilson, and was wearing jeans and a favorite tee-shirt. This one was black. House looked good in black. He tapped his came on the floor once. A judge's gavel bringing down his own sentence. "So, when do I have to move?"

Wilson did a double-take. "Who said I want you to move?"

"You blame me for Sam leaving. I read it in the smoke signals coming out of your ears."

Wilson poured himself a coffee, and reached for a mug for House. "Coffee?"

House nodded, walking passed the kitchen island to the dinning nook table. He eased himself down onto the designer labeled, hard-seat. He winced as he used his right hand to pull his right leg into a ninety degree angle.

Wilson, his own thoughts and anger put aside momentarily - "What did Martins say?" He gestured to House's leg with his coffee mug. "About the leg?" Martins was the hospital's radiology specialist. House had gone to him when the Pt had done little to ease the pain but, rather had made it worse.

House accepted the other mug from Wilson's hand. "The artery wall's dilated. That's why PT didn't work."

Above the old by-pass, he meant, and Wilson knew that was a precursor to another aneurysm. The wall would weaken further, expand, balloon, blood to the lower leg would be drastically reduced, and pain to it, and the rest of his leg, would increase dramatically. Eventually, if neglected, the aneurysm would burst, sending House into another spiral of prolonged agony. It was just a matter of when. "Arterial graft?"

House nodded. "It's that or cut it off."

House would never choose that option. He would risk his life to keep the damn leg. During the operation, though, the blood to the thigh and lower leg would be blocked temporarily. Not long, but long enough to cause a few more muscle cells to die. Enough that House would need to learn to walk again, for the third time. "When?"

"As soon as Cuddy arranges it. Her graft-man's on vacation, so she's got to bring someone in."

Wilson nodded, his heart had heard the news, too, and was beating hard against his chest. What if the thing burst in his sleep between now and then? House could lose the leg, or die. House understood that. This time, though, he didn't just look scared, he looked regretful.

"I don't want you to move out, House. That was true _before_ this conversation, by the way."

House looked at him, decided that he was sincere, and nodded. "Thanks."

"What else is wrong?" Wilson asked, "I mean besides the leg?"

House just shook his head. "Nothing. Sorry about your...about Sam."

"Don't be. She made it clear we were," Wilson made air quotes, ""just friends" anyway."

House's mouth was set in a thin line. He looked tired, as though he had not slept well.

Wilson sighed, trying to sort through everything Sam had said to him, telling himself he understood only half of it. "Anything you want to do today?"

House shook his head. "Call my mom, I guess. It's been about two months."

Wilson rose from his chair. "I'm going into the hospital. Catch up on paperwork. Should I bring dinner home?"

"No. I'll cook."

-

-

House made spaghetti and meat-balls and sauce, and a Mediterranean salad, both delicious. Wilson polished it off without a pause, and put down his fork. "Best salad you've ever made. Thanks."

House had eaten about a third of his spaghetti, nibbled a few romaine lettuce leaves and a black olive or two, and abandoned the rest of his meal. Wilson noted it with some concern. Pain often snatched House's appetite. "Not hungry?"

"Not hungry for salad."

House was unusually abridged in his speech. Bare minimum.

"You're worried about the graft, aren't you?" Wilson asked. Who wouldn't be? Well, House, that's who. House rarely worried about anything.

"Not really. Straight forward procedure."

Sam's words had been running through his head all day. You already have what you want, Sam had said. She'd said lots of things before she'd walked out. "I really didn't think it was terrible, you know."

By his face, he saw House knew to what he referred. "You already said that."

"Did you..?" Wilson stopped. How do you ask someone, your best friend, a question like this? After twenty years, three marriages, a common-law, and five or six girlfriends between them, how do you ask your best friend whether it might have been better...? "I wasn't ashamed, House," He finally settled on, "I was scared shitless." You don't fall in love with someone over the course of a week, and he had become so attached to House so quickly, it had terrified him. "I _had_ to be in control." I had no idea how to _feel_ about feeling like that with my best friend who was a man. I still don't.

"I know."

"So I ran."

"Yup." Like it had been expected, even back then, when they were still strangers. House let him off the hook. "I was scared, too, you know."

Only Wilson knew House would not have run. Not from that. Not from loving someone. Not _then_. House was healthy again, now, relatively. No more narcotic addiction, no dangerous hallucinations, no terror of losing his mind and the only kind of living he knew how to do - or wanted. So House must be ready again, to love someone, and maybe Sam was right, maybe House had made _his_ choice, and was waiting for his _choice_ to make up his mind.

Wilson shook inside but he saw the potential of it. A possible future. "I don't know, House..." I could so easily screw it up.

House assured him. "You can't hurt me."

_Bullshit._ Wilson didn't know everything, but he knew he could get scared and run again. Get angry one day and decide the pain wasn't worth it. Blame House for it, pressure him to change, harass his lover with his own insecurities until House was back on the pills and drink, until his liver exploded. And House would never leave. He'd rather stay and die than leave. Is that any healthier than the Wilson state of norm? Pretend, then get married in hopes that the real thing catches up?

"I have before." Wilson said lamely. He was wishy-washing. Was that a reason or an excuse?

You're still here, Wilson. Thirteen was right. _You were still here then, too._ He reminded himself. After the shaking wore off and you found his phone number, and things went more-or-less back to normal between you. Why couldn't passion be normal, too? "I don't want to lose you. What we have."

"You won't."

House sounded so assured.

"Why'd you buy the cantaloupes?"

"To remind you. A trigger."

Right. Because if the memory of the fruit and the wonderful things House did with them couldn't bring back the physical along with the heart-thing, probably nothing would. For things to go forward where House clearly wanted them to go, the physical had to be brought back into the formula. "It was only one night."

"And now it's twenty years later."

Still here_. _Did he love House? Yes. Could it be widened to include that and _endure_, too? He honestly didn't know, but it ought to be so.

"Are you going to analyze this all morning or join me down the hall?"

Wilson swallowed. "What if I wreck everything?"

"Follow my lead and you won't."

"How do I follow your lead?"

"Let yourself enjoy it without guilt."

Yes. That made sense, he supposed. Without guilt or shame. Why would there ever need to be shame? Why did he never feel shame the few times he allowed the fantasy of House when it was Bonnie? Why did he not feel shame when it wasn't the real McCoy? Because opening himself up to House this time would be without the benefit of being shit-faced, sad and vulnerable. Wilson could not believe he was going to say it, only he knew it had to be this way or he would not be able to take a single step. "I need no strings."

Quizzically, House waited for him to explain himself.

"I don't mean open, I don't mean room to cheat, I mean no commitment, no promises, no lines that we can't cross back over." Could he make it clear so House's feelings would not be hurt? "I pretended to want forever with everyone I've ever been with. And I'm not going to know how genuine this is, how _I_ am until we're well on our way."

To House that seemed to make sense. He nodded once. He understood. "For as long as it lasts then." House sounded confident that in the end his side of the question would win-out.

_Smarmy bastard._ "Right. For as long as it lasts," Wilson echoed. With a small smile "even if that's forever."

House matched the smile. He stood and limped down the hall, tall and fearless. The captain on the deck of his ship as it sets sail. "Don't forget the cantaloupes."

-

-

"Oh my god..." Wilson panted, the memory so weakened with age, the reality so blunt and mind-blowing. "Is this why you bought,...th'a-h-h - extra large?"

House shooshed him and rocked forward and back on his home-made Wilson rocker. A cantaloupe, split down the middle, its insides scooped out until nothing remained but the firm flesh on its inner walls, each half encasing one buttock. The floor was the bed, the suction of the half fruits against his ass skin keeping him in place and yet in motion.

It was exotic and highly erotic, because of the way House was rocking him gently back and forth, the pitch, pace and power set by him alone - the man who was the engine. The guy at the wheel, working the stick shift.

House's thighs were on either side of him, helping to hold him upright and in balance. Amazing that his injured leg still had that kind of strength. No wonder the man wanted to keep it. So did he. Losing either one of those magnificent creations would be sacrilege.

His own legs were on either side of House and bent at the knee to better facilitate the small rocking movement. House's powerful arms were wrapped around his torso, House's deliciously hard, warm cock deep inside his hole, and both of them together in an incredible, engagement of unlikely motion. Synced sex. Both of them, a well oiled fuck machine, purring along like a kitten with its belly full.

House, the master of it all. House, who had thought it up all those years ago.

"Jesus, House, jesus..." The slight elevation of the ass-fruit made for the perfect angle for House's penis to hit the sweet spot with each and every forward and backward rock, the tip raking over his prostate just for a second each way, making the anticipation of the next slow approach and electric sizzle enough to drive him insane. This is what it had been like then, too, only then he hadn't remembered each and every movement, finger touch, House's wet fist on is aching cock, and the man's restless tongue each time he plundered a kiss.

Best of all, the feel of House sliding in and almost-but-not-quite out of him with each forward and backward rock again and again, was almost too much to take. The deep need to burst in a giant come built up so slowly this way. So goddamn, sweetly, harshly slowly. Fucking torture that he never wanted to end. Horny agony he'd like to take to his grave.

And House looked so good, still, on the floor, in this lighting. His calloused fingertips scratched and tickled, neither of which Wilson minded at all. The muscles on the man's back rippled and tensed beneath his own hands, which never stopped moving for an instant. Those fucking self-assured blue irises that believed in his own genius. The son of a bitch was so easy and so _impossible_ to love. Porn-loving bastard! Medical and sexual Einstein. "Jesus Christ, House, you're a fucking genius."

At the unintentional pun, Wilson felt House's lips smile against his mouth. House's mile-long legs, his left curled back up against Wilson's right ass-cheek so he wouldn't tilt over backward too far, was heavenly bliss.

House sped up his motions until Wilson's eyes watered at the shock of House's cock striking his gland so hard and fast. His thought scattered as he came in a shower of internal sparks. "n-n-n-n-agh! Ah-ah-oh House, my fucking go- n-n-ng, jesus, jesus,..ah, ah, m-m-m-m-m."

House came with his face pressed into the dip of Wilson's shoulder, only a small whine escaping his lips. They each took a moment to catch their breath before relaxing the tangle of limbs, though House did not let him of nor withdraw from the nether regions, though he was too soft to be of much use any more. "Did you miss that as much as I did?"

Wilson swallowed. "I don't remember it being this good. that was amazing, House." He said unashamed. He then unashamedly kissed House full on the mouth. "We're doing that again before bed."

House withdrew, and Wilson managed to get to his feet without falling over. He helped House stand and handed him his cane. Wilson headed to the bathroom. "I'm going to take a shower. Why don't you find us something to watch."

Housed cleaned himself up and went to see about providing appropriate viewing pleasure for Wilson's watching needs.

Wilson was surprised at himself. He was still normal. They were still normal. They were going to watch television together. The world had not flipped on its side or anything. He hadn't grown a second head. No one was there to pass judgement, and even if they had been, Wilson thought he would probably feel good about flipping them off. The darkness wasn't ugly. Things had changed but hadn't. He was the same but not. He was pretty sure he'd seen that movie. "Oh, Louis..." He said aloud, and laughed at his own absurdity.

The shower was refreshing. Not that he had felt dirty.

House really was a genius.

XXX

House had another surprise for him.

A movie about a guy who couldn't die, and the last cantaloupe but in half and scooped out, each with a scoop of ice-cream. House's was licorice and Wilson had brought home peach for himself.

"What's this?"

"Dessert."

House handed Wilson his half and together they settled in front of the television. But watching the movie went aside almost immediately as House began to eat his ice cream out of the last cantaloupe. He would take a spoon full of the dark creamy looking stuff, put it in his mouth and slowly draw the spoon out, moving the frosty goo around in his mouth until it was gone, then licking off what was left clinging to the spoon. It was erotic. Wilson suddenly imagined his penis in between those malleable lips, and was already feeling a stirring in his pelvis. House had just invented dessert sex.

Oh, yeah, he was a genius. "Is this why you bought four cantaloupes?"

"A little excessive?"

"Even as a trigger - which I suspected by the way, I thought so at the time, yeah."

"Yes, this is why four."

Wilson had an alarming thought. They were now out of cantaloupes, it was Sunday, and after nine PM, so most of the grocery stores would be closed already.

House read his mind. "Don't worry. I went out and bought a half dozen while you were at the hospital."

Thank god for life-long, lovelorn, horny, porn-addicted, frustrating, best friend ever, sexy geniuses.

"Good thinking. I believe you have the makings of a master chef."

House finished his ice cream and placed his bowl on the coffee table, leaving the cantaloupe pulp to go dry. "How about steak tomorrow night?" House suggested.

"Sure." Wilson said. "What side are you thinking of?"

"Well," House said. "I found a great recipe for butternut squash."

Wilson's mouth was already watering.

XXXXXX

END

AN: I have no idea if this cantaloupe thing would work in the way described in this fic'. Would it split? Be crushed? How strong (or not) are cantaloupes anyway? I learned to loathe cantaloupe, 'cause my mother used to force us to eat the damn things, and she used something delicious to apply that force - ice cream! Which in my opinion is degrading to ice-cream.

We kids could only have ice cream if we ate it along with cantaloupe - and we had to eat the cantaloupe first, and Mom used to keep them too long in the fridge so they were mushy. HARGH!!

I suppose I choose cantaloupe to try and bring it into a more positive light in my own mind. Plus it sounds like the type of produce House would choose for his own invention of kinky sex.


End file.
